


A Pasty White Raisin Christmas

by dandeliononfire



Series: Pasty White Raisin Age Gap AU [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: And Peeta's, And they're all adorable, Christmas, Christmas AU, Eventual HEA for everyone, F/M, Finnick and Annie are Adorable, Fluff along the way to help with some of the hurt, Johanna and an OLDER Thom are awesome, Johanna rocks, Modern AU, Only this time he really screws up, Peeta still being dumb and self-loathing, We see Katniss' work family, age gap, age gap au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 12:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19005712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandeliononfire/pseuds/dandeliononfire
Summary: When Peeta's insecurities mounted, the older man decided to cut ties with Katniss for her sake: He didn't want to see a woman like her throw her life away on a man twelve years her senior struggling to run a Bakery. As Christmas rolls around the year following when they'd first met, Katniss buys him twelve gifts as a way of showing how much worth he has in her eyes, but also to make peace with herself in being forced to say goodbye.  But, the friends and family she's accrued at the Brewery, and Peeta's staff at the Bakery, might have something to say about Peeta's destructive self-loathing.   This is the follow-up multi-chapter to Pasty White Raisin, and was originally started in response to prompts on @everlarkchristmasgifts.





	1. Shopping - 12 Days to Christmas

**“Shopping…”**

It was twelve days to Christmas. They’d missed Christmas last year. It could’ve been their first Christmas, but Peeta had been too stubborn to let a woman “waste her life” on a washed-up baker twelve years older than her.

She’d won, by the end of the Winter thaw. He’d already been in love, but he’d finally let himself love, and everything that had seemed to mean to him.

Well, everything within the parameters of being a gentleman.

He’d insisted on her making him work for her good favor, and at first it had been a funny game, his insistence that he court her, a delicious, slow romance of soft kisses and interwoven fingers and getting to know each other over conversations, dinners, or during walks. But the game had given him time to reconsider what he might be getting in to.

Which was robbing her of a future she deserved.

So ultimately, he’d come to use the game as a way to buy time to fortify the barriers so strongly she’d be forced to admit she should cut her losses.

And when she’d still refused, he’d cut her losses for her, before the summer heat had waned, with an “I’m sorry, Katniss, this isn’t working for me,” followed instantly by firing her from doing the bakery’s books, which she’d been doing part-time for the low cost wage of a half-dozen cheese buns a week, and refusing to respond to her texts or voicemails.

At Thanksgiving, she’d shown up at his door, asking if they could spend the evening together, talk. Consider reconsidering.

He’d shaken his head and closed the door on her, but not before his face had presented a few moments of unmasked regret and longing.

She’d almost gone to a hardware store for an ax to chop his door off its hinges.

When she’d called her uncle Haymitch in tears from her car, still sitting in the bakery’s parking lot, he’d agreed chopping down Peeta’s door was an acceptable strategy, except there wouldn’t be a hardware store open on Thanksgiving Day.

So this Christmas season— the Christmas that could have been their second Christmas, or at least their first— just a year after she’d chosen him, the rejection had left its mark on her. She couldn’t face flying out west to spend Christmas with her sister and mother. Would not be able to muster the emotional energy necessary to pretend she was okay for a whole evening spent with her friends, despite their invites.  

No, she and Haymitch were going to spend it getting drunk on vodka, eating crock-pot roast and microwaved mashed potatoes, and watching either a marathon of The Profit, or Rocky, depending on which one of them won the coin toss.

So with twelve days to Christmas, Katniss Everdeen decided it was time to say goodbye once and for all.

Well, twelve times, for all.

Twelve ways to say she loved him.

Twelve ways to say goodbye.

Twelve ways to say both at the same time.

Twelve days, twelve gifts.

And it was going to start with a Thursday, lunch hour shopping trip.

“Kat, where you going?”

Odair was the afternoon manager for the restaurant side of the brewery operation where she was a bookeeper. He’d stepped so quickly in her way she almost couldn’t stop before walking into him.  

His hands here clasped behind his back and he was grinning. His up-to-something look.

“Lunch,” she said, guarded.

“Right. It’s treason to buy lunch from somewhere other than here. And anyway, you eat lunch from a brown bag. Every day. You’re so frugal, you probably even reuse the same bag until it’s toast. No, Katniss Everdeen looks like a woman on a mission.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Then it would make sense to get out of my way.”

He studied her as though he could read her secrets if he looked hard enough.

“You off to see that baker guy of yours? Because I would love one of his everything bagels, and Annie likes the peanut butter chip cookies.”

Katniss swallowed and fought off a wave of pain.

“No, I’m going to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.”

“Oh, perfect then,” like magic, his hand was suddenly in front of her face, waving a hundred dollar bill, as though he already knew where she was heading and was just enjoying teasing her about the other, “I need something pretty for Annie. I was thinking a necklace.”

Katniss felt an urge to punch him, but started to step around him instead. He stepped in her way again, grin back on his face.

“Come on, help a guy out. The last time I picked out jewelry for her, it was a total flop, and you remember it.”

“Finnick, the only reason it flopped, was because you thought it’d be funny to give her a used pendant with someone else’s initials on it.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. That thing was an antique. And it was beautiful, and I knew the emeralds would set off her eyes. And anyway, the first initial matched.”

Katniss just shook her head; his problems were his, thankfully.

“Have to go, bye.”

He snagged her hand, yanking her momentum to a stop and then slapping the bill into her palm.

“Just in case something jumps out at you.”

“You realize how terrible it is to ask another woman to shop for your girlfriend.”

Finnick shrugged. “You’re not another woman, you’re basically family. And anyway, I already have her other gifts bought. I just want a wildcard.”

Katniss scowled.

“Fine, but I’m taking two hours for lunch, without losing the extra hour of pay, and you have to cover in case someone needs a bank run.”

Odair winked, then walked off with a, “Thanks, Katniss. You’re the second-best.”

Katniss shoved the bill into her jean’s pocket, so it could help her debit card burn a hole into the denim.

___

She knew what the first gift for Peeta would be, so she parked near the entrance closest to the woolen shop. Unfortunately, that entrance was the least used, and its parking more like the back forty. With Winter being stubborn about providing snow for Christmas, and the mall neglecting to plow that section, by the time she was inside, her feet were wet and freezing from slogging through patches of standing slush.  There was a small hunting shop just inside the entrance, one of her favorite stores, and the moment she saw a pair of boots she’d been drooling over for six months on sale for forty percent off, she decided that if she was going to loosen up on the financial reigns enough that week to buy herself a sense of closure about Peeta, she might as well give herself that one treat.

Fifteen minutes later, she was stalking to the sweater shop in knee-high, front lace brown leather boots with reinforced heels and toes, all weather tread, and Gortex lined.  And to make it better, her toes were swaddled in thick, high-tech, sweat-wicking winter socks.

She was even smiling by the time she got to her intended destination.

But then as soon as she was inside, her heart sank.

Peeta’s first present was a sweater she’d been eying for him for almost a month, folded on a center display table just inside the entrance. Imported from Ireland, it was a heavy, rough-finish wool sweater, that had a faded quality to its blue.  The first time she’d seen it, she’d wanted him in it. Wanted to see how it contrasted with his light hair, complimented his blue eyes, hugged his shoulders, and layered over the waist of his jeans. Back then, she had still be holding hope he’d snap out of it, that maybe Christmas morning they’d be opening presents together and she’d get to see him in it, run her hands along down his arms to sense the feel of it, rest her palms against the scratchy texture of the wool, but feel the warmth and firmness of his shoulders and chest beneath.

But now, she wouldn’t get that pleasure. He would have the sweater. Hopefully, he would wear it. But regardless, she’d never get to see it.

If things went according to plan, someone else would.

She looked through the stack, finding his size and then laying it out, unfolded, over the rest. Her fingers stroked along the back and inside of the collar, where a beautiful, muted orange line of silky fabric had been sewn in to help prevent the roughness of the wool from rubbing against the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was even almost Peeta’s favorite shade of orange.   

A  friendly young clerk came up, asking if she could be of help. Her bubbling mood was a knife-stab to Katniss’ heart, so Katniss told her she had other shopping to do and was in a hurry. The girl agreed to wrap it and have it waiting for Katniss to pay for and pick up on her way back out of the mall.

The next stop was Eddie Bauer, where she had a clerk box a wheat-colored Henley on a bed of black tissue, hand it over long enough for Katniss to finger press a dog ear into the collar where the top button would normally be, and then finish with the full-on Christmas wrapping treatment.  Her first hour was almost up.

Neiman Marcus covered two more gifts, six depending on how one counted, and fortune favored her in a special find that saved her a side trip to Hot Topic.  Plus, the clerks there were fast wrappers. She had thirty minutes left for this trip, and, for this trip, only two more items to go.

The most expensive.

A boutique, ultra-high end men’s store cost her savings account exactly eight hundred, forty-seven dollars and sixteen cents. The gift wrapping took absolutely forever. But everything about the work, from the paper, to the simple ribbon, to the ridiculously expensive, and large, carry out bag, was immaculate. It almost made her cry.

It did make her cry, actually. Because signing her name to a payment slip that size made it crystal clear just what she had committed herself to do, and that she would not be the one to see the end result.

But she made a quick stop at Zales, saw what she instantly knew was the right call. It was just shy of two hundred and fifty after tax, but today was her day to spend on others, and Annie and Finnick were good friends, so she pocketed the hundred for her piggy bank, and paid for it out of her checking.

_____

“You’re late. Nice boots.”

“What?”

Finnick rooted around in the Zales bag she handed him for the necklace box.

“You’re late. You said two hours. It’s been a hundred and twenty-seven minutes. Did you stop at the bakery and bring us the bagels?”

“I didn’t have time.” Thankfully.

“Then I’m docking you the seven minutes,” he said without missing a beat, and when he finally got the red velvet box open, his teasing fell away into a look of confusion, and then a threat of real emotion. “Katniss, how did you…”  He shook his head and the red headed prankster looked like he might actually hug her.

“Call it fate,” she said, and then started walking back to her office.  “And if you dock me those seven minutes, our next limited run is going to be called Odair Pale, ‘cause that’ll be the vat you’d drown in.”

_____

  
  


Katniss was out the brewery doors at 5:00pm sharp.  She managed to stop by the barber shop and the youth initiative before they closed by six, and that left only one purchase to go.

First, a stop at the bank.

Then, her final stop at the pawn shop.

The old man who owned the shop had held the item for her, and all that remained was for her to bring in the cash for it.

He was sitting at the counter like he was waiting for her— a sale like that, she was probably the one single person he was waiting for that day— and produced the item immediately, including the silky box that went with it, dull and stained by time. She carefully counted out the money, and he carefully wrote her out a receipt in his shaky handwriting.

Pawn shops didn’t gift wrap, but since it was raining, he found a used plastic bag from the back and gave her that to carry it away in.

It felt heavy, the plastic in her fingers as she walked back to her car.

Heavy like an ending.

Heavy like time moving on without her.

_____

By seven, the drizzle was threatening to turn to sleet with the evening’s cooling temperature.  Katniss shivered a little, trying to shrink further into her jacket, and was even more glad for her new boots, because the slush in the alley behind the bakery was even worse than it had been at the mall. The windows above her, on the bakery’s second floor were lit; Peeta was at home, no surprise.  He’d be watching television, maybe. Or even finishing dinner. Within an hour, he’d start thinking about bed.

For the six or seven months he’d let her into his life, she’d learned his habits fast.  They’d never shared a bed and never spent a night together, because he wouldn’t allow it— because he was going to ‘do things right’— but they’d spent plenty of time together.  By the Summer, they’d been seeing each other every day. And she’d found so much joy in the not rushing it. It had given them time to fully appreciate the excitement of almost innocent kisses and the silly, mutual attempts to find opportunities for them to be less than strictly innocent, the almost stolen thrill of sitting just close enough knees might touch, or arms might press.  The silences and times where they were just around each other, without having to feel pressure that being out on a date, or on a walk, or going to the bookstore together was somehow really only posturing for a race they were supposed to complete by end of the day.

She knew his hours.

Knew not to text him after seven thirty.

Knew he didn’t actually like texting at all, and preferred a phone call, if a personal visit wasn’t possible.

Knew which corner of his couch he liked to lean into when watching television.  Knew where his mugs were, and his glasses. Knew which drawer had the silverware, which hall closet had the extra hand towels for the bathroom. Knew he recycled cans, but often forgot to recycle plastic. Knew which episodes of Big Bang Theory were his favorites.

Each step up the steel-grate steps up to Peeta’s second-floor entry, brought another ‘knew’ to her mind, digging the knife a little deeper.

But she kept going, careful to duck a little near the top in case he happened to be at the kitchen sink window, and then leaning the box with the wool sweater against his door, with a note taped to it.

—Don’t open until six on Christmas Eve—

Just as carefully, she crept back down and then took up a position in the blackness behind the dumpster. A pocketful of little garden stones served as her ammunition, and she chucked three at his door with perfect aim.  

From the shadows, she watched Peeta’s face appear at the window, and then a moment later, light came flooding out from his doorway.  He saw the present right away, but looked around first to see who was there.

He called her name out and for a second she thought maybe he was able to see her after all, but after a few seconds of him leaning out over the rail and looking both ways down the alley, it was clear he didn’t.  He came back to the present, gave it a look over, and then went back inside.

She didn’t know whether to feel honored or sad that after a gift appeared for him, the only person he thought to call out in question to was her.


	2. Secret Santa Exchange - Eleven Days to Christmas

**Eleven Days to Christmas - Secret Santa Exchange**

The clang of the bell over the door brought Peeta out from the back of the bakery.  The customer already had his face glued to the case with the day’s remaining cinnamon rolls.  They were each the size of plates, and covered with syrup glaze and walnut halves.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah. You can tell me whether it’s possible to have an sugar crash that’s existential, or if it’s just a thought in my head.”

“Sorry?”

The guy laughed at his own joke and came over to the counter. He looked friendly, but also exuded a confidence that made Peeta, run down as he was, feel less so.

“Are there walnuts inside those? Or just on the top?”

“Walnuts throughout.”

“Walnuts throughout,” the man parroted with an appreciative nod. “I like you. Walnuts throughout.”

When he didn’t say or do anything else, Peeta cleared his throat and suggested, “Do you want me to box one up for you?”

“Maybe. I’m looking for Peter.”

“You mean Peeta.”

“Ah, Peet- _ah_. He’s got the Boston thing going on!”

Peeta tried to smile, but smiling was hard. Too many orders, too many hours. Too old of a story. Rue usually worked part time, but had needed two extra days off that week because of finals. Thom was still technically full time, but he’d been out sick on and off for the last two months because his mother was ill. Cashmere had quit right before Thanksgiving. And Katniss…

Well, he’d run Katniss off.

The last two days the operation had been a solo show.

“Actually, it is ‘Peeta,’ not Peter. And that’s me. I know, blame my parents.” He needed to get back to work. “What can I do for you?”

The man gave him an appraising once over that bordered on invasive, followed by a nod of approval. “So you’re the one.  I can see it. I can totally see it.”

Peeta cleared his throat and shifted a little on his feet.

“Uh… The one what?”

“Katniss’ ‘There can be only One.’ Aside from me, of course.”

Peeta’s back stiffened.

“And you are?”

The man didn’t notice, or wasn’t phased, by Peeta’s abrupt gruffness.

“Handsome. Funny. Amazingly talented. I go by many names. In previous times, I was referred to as ‘God’s gift to women.’ But alas, now that I’m on the road to a lifetime of sweet monogamy, I go by the unassuming alter-ego Finnick Odair.” He held his hand out over the counter, joking grin giving way to an earnest smile and a lower-key manner. “Hi, good to meet you. I work with Katniss at the brewery. I’m the one she always gets your everything bagels for.”

“She’s mentioned you.”

Peeta crossed his arms but Finnick kept his hand extended until it was rude to not shake it, so he used a stronger grip than necessary.

“Road to monogamy with…Ann?” Peeta didn’t look away from Finnick for a millisecond, squeezing his hand tighter. “Or was it Annie?”

“Wow, ice, ice, baby. You sure there isn’t a Peter back there?” Finnick squeezed back, hard. “‘Cause to hear Katniss, you’re, and I quote, ‘warm and amazing,’ not Mr. I-Might-Murder-You-Where-You-Stand. And yes, it’s Annie, definitely not Katniss, if that’s what your grip is asking, so,” Finnick stared pointedly at their hands then back up, “release the hostage; it comes in peace.”

Peeta held on for an extra few beats, then released.

“Thanks.” Finnick cracked his knuckles. “Not that I don’t enjoy holding your hand, but really, I don’t enjoy holding your hand.”

Peeta smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Christmas season makes for long baking days and grumpy bakers.  Did Katniss send you to talk to me?”

“About what?”

When Peeta didn’t respond, Finnick studied him, eyes narrowing.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“You thought I might be making a move on Katniss. Katniss hasn’t been bringing me my bagels. You think Katniss might have sent an emissary.”  He stared until Peeta reddened. “You two have had a fight that she hasn’t let on about, haven’t you?”

Peeta stared down at the worn linoleum tiles. They muttered at him about unionizing if they didn’t get better mop and wax benefits.

Finnick  _hmmm’d_.

“So that’s why she’s been ultra reclusive lately. And here I assumed she was just having her traditional end-of-year wigout about breakage losses.”

Peeta forced himself to look back up.

“So does that mean she didn’t send you?”

“No, she didn’t.” Finnick was still analyzing him. “You know, I’d say it’s none of my business, but she’s Annie’s best friend and the closest thing I have to a sister, so really it is. What’d she do?”

“Excuse me?”

“What did she do? Shut down on you? Annie and I were worried that might happen. She avoids relationships like a golfer avoids water traps, and with how happy she’s been, we’ve both been worried she might try a runner.”

“A runner?”

“She might seem like she’s got the emotional stuntage of coal, but behind the scowl and the lasso of bookkeeping truth, she’s actually really nice… and also terrified of losing people.”

Peeta cleared his throat. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but it’s my business and hers.”

“Hang on…” Finnick’s staring was approaching full on x-ray power.  

Peeta found a rag and started wiping at the counter nervously to avoid it.

“It wasn’t her, it was you. What did  _you_  do?”

“I didn’t do anything. And it’s a private.”

“Nope, you don’t get to do that. Not where it concerns Katniss. You’ll have the entire Tribute Brewery Suicide Squad coming down on you if you break her. And trust me, you don’t want to face Mason’s interrogation techniques.”

“Mason?”

“Johanna.”

“Is that ‘Jo,’ the assistant brewmaster?”

“Yeah.”

Peeta stopped wiping the counter, and looked up.

“Shaved head, leather collar, and a tattoo of Wile E. Coyote holding a stick of dynamite that’s about to go off?”

Finnick cocked an eyebrow. “You two’ve met?”

Peeta shook his head and took a few extra wipes with his rag before standing upright and tossing it onto the counter. He crossed his arms and relaxed enough to laugh a little.

“Naw. But Katniss showed me a picture once of Jo pretending to mount one of the vats.”

Finnick cracked a laugh. “Christmas party last year. We all remember, unfortunately. And she almost got fired for it.”

“Does that mean it was a tamer Christmas Party this year?”

Finnick laughed. “If you think the threat of being fired would tame Jo, you’ve definitely never actually met her.” After a few seconds, he leaned forward on the counter, tone lowered to something more serious, but also more open, “Look, we know about you and obviously you know about us. Even Haymitch calls you ‘The Boy,’ which means you have the official seal of approval. But even though we keep expecting an engagement announcement, every time we try to goad her into bringing you by, Kat claims you’re too busy.  So what’s the  _real_  reason you’re afraid of meeting us?”

Peeta stared down again at the linoleum.

“I’m not. I haven’t been. I just work crazy hours, and my schedule doesn’t fit with a normal person’s.”

“Baloney. She thinks you’re the greatest thing since— What’s that guy she likes on t.v.?”

“Which one?”

“She’s always yakking about with Annie after a new episode airs. He saves businesses or something.”

“Marcus? I think?”

“Yeah.” Finnick picked a half donut hole from a sample plate by the register and popped it in his mouth. “She thinks you’re the greatest thing since Mr. Marcus, and if that’s true, then over the course of a year, you’d have found time to meet us at least once. What’s really the hangup?”

“Listen, I appreciate that you’re trying to help—”

“Man, I’m proposing to Annie Christmas Eve. If there’s a blind date program for grooms to find best men, you and I have already been enrolled, so we might as well accept the arranged bro-marriage Annie and Katniss have negotiated for us and move on to the deep stuff.”

Peeta hesitated.

“Look, just looking at you it’s clear you need a break, a shave, and a good roll in the sack. Which,” he took another half donut hole, “Katniss needs, too, if for no other reason than it might get her off my back about that over-order of glassware I made last week. But more than that, you look like you need a pep talk. Katniss wouldn’t fall for a loser, so tell Mr. Odair what you did, and he’ll help you figure out how to smooth things over.”

“There’s no ‘smoothing things over.’”

“Kat still has a selfie of you two as her desktop background at work. Trust me, we can get you back in the clear.”

Peeta sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“If you didn’t come here because of Katniss and me to begin with, why are you here?”

“I miss my everything bagel. And Annie likes the sea salt ones.”

Peeta frowned. “Aside from the baked good.”

“Ah, well, see… I’m a man in need of advice. I drew Katniss’ name in the Secret Santa bag today.”

“And?”

“Annie said I’m on my own, and the only thing that comes to mind when I think of Katniss and gifts is a run to the office supply store for a stack of ledger books and fine-point Sharpies.”

“You want help buying her a gift.” Peeta wasn’t convinced.

“Yes. She doesn’t hardly drink, doesn’t go out, doesn’t have any hobbies that I’m aware of except for stalking Bambi in the woods with her bow and watching CNBC. And pretty much as far as we can tell, the only social things she does outside of work or her time with Haymitch is what we force her to do, or,” he added with meaning, “the time she spends in the company of ‘Pee-tah,’ her favorite, local, friendly neighborhood baker-man.” Finnick’s grin went wide enough to give Peeta’s own dimples a run for their money. “My real talent lies in buying lingerie. But I’m pretty sure if I bought Katniss a naughty Mrs. Claus nightie, none of us would be comfortable at Christmas ever again. Well, except for maybe Johanna. So,” he rubbed his hands together, “throw a man a life line.”

Peeta glared a little, then pulled a box flat from under the counter, folded it up, and went to retrieve one of the cinnamon rolls, then got a paper bag, went back to the baskets along the back wall and put in two everything and two sea salt bagels.  

“Have you heard of Sweet Pete’s,” he asked, after he slid the box and bag across the counter to Finnick.

“That high-end candy place over on 4th?”

“Yeah. Katniss always seems to like going there. Maybe a gift card.”

Finnick nodded. “Thanks. What else? It’s a twenty dollar limit, but she went above and beyond yesterday  helping me get the perfect present for Annie. And, she dug into her own wallet to make it happen, so I’d like to go a bit extra.”

“There’s that archery store there in the mall she loves.  Maybe they’d have something to suggest. Like some sort of bow wax or something.”

“What are you getting her for Christmas?”

Peeta ducked his head over the register to ring up the order, not offering an answer.

“A ring would be a good idea.  Speaking of,” Finnick pulled his wallet out and put a twenty down to cover the bill, “when are you and Katniss finally gonna do it?”

“Uh…” Peeta took the twenty and keyed in the cash. The drawer popped open.

“Well?”

Peeta cleared his throat, made change, then closed the register’s drawer with quiet push. “I’m not exactly in the habit of discussing bedroom matters with people I barely know.”

“Well, getting married is a lot more than…”

They stared at each other, Peeta looking uncomfortable.

Finnick’s mouth slowly twisted into a grin.

Peeta went red.

“ _You mean to tell me that you two haven’t even…_ ” Finnick laughed so hard he could barely talk, his words eventually came out bookended with wheezes, “And yet somehow she’s always contented and glowing when she talks about you. Man, you need to tell me what you put in your baked goods, ‘cause it took me two years just to get Annie to trust me enough to go out on a date.”

“Anyway,” Peeta cleared his throat and handed Finnick his change, “I need to get back to cleaning up in the back. I hope you find something good for Katniss.”

“Wow. Andy Stitzer.” Finnick was still trying to catch his breath from laughing. “You really are her ‘There can be only One,’ aren’t you?”

Once he managed to fight down his amusement, he gave Peeta a nod of genuine admiration.

“Look, you talk to Katniss, I’ll talk to Katniss. Trust me when I say she’s not the kind of woman who keeps a guy in bad graces just for the drama of it. We’ll work it out.”

Peeta hesitated.

“I’m the one who ended it.”

Finnick’s smile faded.

“What do you mean ‘ended it?’”

__________

When he finally came to the end of his very long day, Peeta found a second present waiting at his apartment door.


	3. Candy - Ten Days to Christmas

**Ten Days to Christmas — Candy**

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”  Katniss slammed the glossy gift bag down on the bar top in front of Finnick so hard the bag crumpled under the force. She looked like she wanted to cry, or kill someone—him maybe— and at least half the lunch crowd customers stopped eating to stare.

“Lower your voice,” Finnick whispered, once he recovered from the shock of the out-of-nowhere eruption. He gave his customers a reassuring smile, then took the bag and held his arm out and corralled Katniss towards the swinging doors to the back.

She made the turn into the glorified broom closet that was his office without being directed.

She was crying.

“What are you playing at.”

“I don’t understand.”

She pointed to the bag in his hands like it was something heartbreaking.

“The Secret Santa label. It’s clearly your handwriting. And Jo said you were lurking around my office right before I got in this morning. What the  _hell_ is going on?” She drug her sleeve across her face to wipe it, then grabbed the bag from him, wrapping it up in her arms as she crossed them. “Are they from Peeta? Did he leave them for me?”

Finnick held his hands out, kept his voice calm and took a step towards her.

“No. I bought them yesterday myself.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s… It’s…” She pulled her arms tighter, the bag audibly crinkling as it got further crushed. “You’ve seen Peeta, don’t lie.”

“Yes, yes I have. I didn’t say I hadn’t. I drew your name yesterday in the Santa exchange, and went down to the bakery to see if he had any ideas for me. He told me you liked that shop’s candy.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Finnick,” she snapped, struggling not to yell. “They’re black licorice drops. You couldn’t know unless he had specifically told you to get them for me. Did he say he wanted to talk?”

“Well, I admit I was surprised when he told me you two weren’t together anymore.” Katniss made a choking noise. He took another step closer. “And I do think you two should talk. But no, he didn’t ask me to have you contact him.”

“But he told you to get me black licorice, right? Please tell me he told you to.”

Finnick frowned.

“No. He told me you liked their hard candies, and I showed your picture to the staff there and they said these were the kind you always get.”

Katniss’ stared at him, eyes unfocused, before she slumped down into the chair at his desk.

Finnick let her wallow a few moments, then perched on the edge of the desk.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, “I didn’t know something had happened with you two when I went to see him. And I’m sorry I picked exactly the wrong thing. Do you want me to go find Annie?”

She shook her head. Her cry was done, but she had to wipe at her face again.

“It’s fine.”

“Right. Clearly.”

She shook her head again.

“I just… I’ve only ever gone to that shop with Peeta.”  

Katniss stopped, replaying the memory privately; it wasn’t the kind of thing she was willing to blurt out. And plus, it hurt too much.

It had been back in May. Peeta had actually taken off work early and left Thom to close. By then, Peeta had put his old fashioned manners aside just far enough to tease her and kiss her more freely and they’d spent an hour window shopping downtown for no other reason than to go for a walk together. When they’d come to the candy shop, Peeta had hooked her hand and yanked her inside, marching straight to a barrel of black, shiny hard candies and filling a little bag with them.

 _These’re the best_ , he’d crooned to both her and the cashier, grinning like a boy while they’d waited for his change.

Back outside on the sidewalk, Peeta had held the little sack open for her. She’d refused to try one.

She’d told him she hated anise.

 _I’ll bet I can change your mind_ , he’d goaded.

She’d given him a look that said he was delusional.

He’d been excited for the challenge. Had locked eyes with her. Grinned so wide that both his dimples made an appearance. Slid one of the candies onto his tongue. Let his eyes drift closed.

Then, he’d let loose a few suggestive groans and put on a display of languid sucking so obscene that everything south of Katniss’ belly button twitched.

 _Here_ , he’d said, pulling the candy out and grinning at her,  _now give us a kiss._

With a display like that, she couldn’t not.

Katniss closed her eyes, and gripped the crumpled bag of candies in her fists. She could still remember the hard, warm feel of his sides under his t-shirt while she’d held onto him after he’d shuffled close against her. Remember the cool late spring breeze fluttering at the back of her neck, the sounds of light traffic, the faint mummer of barbershop quartet music pressing its way out through the candy shop’s windows. He’d kissed her slowly, spreading the flavor of black licorice through her mouth, making it impossible for her to not taste it in his saliva, dark and tangy and just slightly sharp.

When he’d finally pulled back, they were both subdued and content. He’d pressed his forehead against hers, eyes still closed. His breath had been scented like the candy as he’d whispered,

_Do you have any idea what you do to me?_

From then on, every trip there had been followed with kisses that tasted the same.

Felt the same.

And every time she’d caught a whiff of black licorice since the day he’d told her they were done, it had left her in tears.

___

Rue brought a small packet wrapped in Christmas paper and ribbon to the back.

“Someone left this on the counter for you.”

Peeta took it with a deep frown.  It bore a Xerox copy of the same note that had been tapped to each of the previous two days’ presents.

—Don’t open until six on Christmas Eve—

“Was it Katniss?”

Rue looked hopeful. “Are you two back together?”

“Was it her?”

“I didn’t see who left it. It was tucked between the register and the pen mug.”

“Did she come in at all today?”

Rue shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since that day she left your office crying.”

Peeta gave her the warning look of a boss, but then pulled his hand down his face.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, giving her a weak smile. “Thanks.”

He waited until she pushed back through the canvas divider flaps out to the front.

“Boss?”

That was Thom, who was looking up from scrubbing a pan. The one word was everything Rue had been asking, and implying, and more.  

“I don’t know,” Peeta conceded. “Maybe.” But then, he hadn’t even talked to her. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

Peeta waved him away and then disappeared into his office, tossing the present on the table.


	4. Christmas Tree - Nine Days to Christmas

**Nine Days to Christmas - Christmas Tree**

The tree for the inside of the brewery’s restaurant had gone up promptly the Friday after Thanksgiving. It was a beautiful, if fake, eight-foot thing with white fairy lights, paper-craft snowflakes, and garlands made of kettle corn that mysteriously lost kernels whenever patrons had to wait for seating. The rustic look was all Annie’s doing.

The real presents under the tree, were Katniss’.

Peeta routinely donated unsold baked goods to the local Salvation Army and youth center. Back in the summer, when they’d still been together, Katniss had often tagged along on his post-closing deliveries to them, and gotten to know some of the staff and regular patrons.  With Annie’s blessing, she’d offered up the Tribute Brewery’s tree to double as a charity tree come Christmastime. And so, along with the other decoration, gift-wish tags from kids hung on the branches, and fulfilled requests were already starting to pile up under the tree.

It set the atmosphere, made the already cozy grill feel more like a place for family.

Sung its own carol of home.

Katniss felt a deep pang as she walked past it, pushing through the doors to the outside.

There, at least for the moment, others were feeling their own Christmas tree pain as well: The big spruce outside was only half done.

“I’m not Gumby, for crying out loud! Get me closer!”

The box at the top of the man-lift swayed precariously, jerking Finnick around like Raggedy Andy while Thresh operated the controls from the ground.

“Sorry,” Thresh called up, not sounding sorry.

“Next year, it’s you up here,” Finnick shot back. “And this year I actually mean it!”

“Nah uh, you like the thrill too much!”

On cue, the box jerked again, making Finnick grip the railing to keep from getting bucked out.

The owners of the brewery had been using the machine to decorate the tree for Christmas since long before any of them had come to work at Tribute. And every year was discussion and theorizing about how old the rickety thing was. Based on the peeling paint, rust, and tendency to produce grinding noises, general consensus among staff was was that it was probably at least as old as Christopher Reeves’ stint as Superman. The controls up in the box had long-since stopped working, and for the last several years, what should have been a two-man job, had required at least seven staff:

One to operate the box from the controls at the unit’s base (Thresh), one to fetch whatever forgotten items needed fetching in terms of decoration (Katniss), one to risk life and limb going up high (Finnick), at least three to watch with oohs, ahhs, and wisecracks, and make bets about whether Finnick “really might die this time” (Johanna, plus two), and one to direct the placement of the decorations (Annie).

It was supposed to have been decorated for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, like the tree inside, but between staff sick calls, a super busy season, and Finnick having seemed mysteriously distracted, it’d been put off.

“No, further to the right,” Finnick shouted down.

The box, with Finnick in it, jolted again, wobbling excessively.

“I swear, Finnick’s actually going to fall out of that thing one of these times,” Katniss said as she handed Annie a box of outdoor decorations she’d been sent for from one of the storerooms.

“He’s got a thick skull; he’d survive,” Annie smirked, right before a look of sudden horror crossed her face. “No, Finn baby, loop it on the next branch over! Yeah… No… Yeah, that one right there. Perfect!”

“Of course I am,” he called down.

Katniss snorted, then left them to it.

__

“What the hell is that?”

Haymitch muted the t.v. then tilted the neck of his beer bottle to the thing Katniss was dragging in with her through the front door. She wrestled it inside far enough to kick the door shut.

“It’s called— wait for it— ‘a Christmas tree.’”

“And what exactly do you do with one,” he smartassed back.

“You erect it and decorate it.”

“What,  sort of like a—”

“STOP!” Katniss glared at him as severely as she could, anticipating the joke, and growling when she almost tripped while dragging her haul towards the living room. “Come on, just help me.”

“Just help me,” he aped back in a little girl’s voice. Nevertheless, he dutifully set his beer on the coffee table and helped her pull it over next to the t.v. It wasn’t a large tree, but it was still larger than her, and she had to body hug it to keep it upright. “I don’t have the stand anymore, you know,” he said.

“Under my arm,” Katniss butted him with her elbow as best she could, to signal where.

She and the tree almost went over for it.

“Stay,” he said to both, once he’d helped them back to satisfactorily vertical. He ferreted the base free and knelt down to work on setting the tree in it. “Scraggly damn thing,” he complained, once it was up and the netting cut away. He felt bad enough for it he actually tried to help the branches spread apart a little. “Where the hell’d you get it, Boyscout clearance aisle?”

“The youth center sells them.”

He eyed her.

“How come you didn’t just stop by the hardware store and get one of those fake ones that don’t shed damn pine needles all over my floor?”

“Our floor,” she grumbled, stripping herself out of her jacket like she’d been having a fight with it all day. “I live here, too, remember? And anyway, it’s a fir, not a pine.”

“Whatever.” He snatched his beer bottle back up dramatically, but instead of drinking, he eyed her again. “The center’s way outside your normal route home. That was a you-and-the-boy place. Why’d you do that to yourself?”

“I had to go see  them about a Christmas Eve thing. The brewery’s working along with their gift tree program this year.”

“Is it now.” Haymitch looked at her like he suspected she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but he didn’t press. Instead, he took a sip of his beer. “You do remember I don’t have ornaments, right? I got rid of all that stuff after you and Prim left.”

Katniss rolled her eyes, went to her room and came back with a small stack of boxes, putting them on the coffee table, opening each to reveal ornaments, lights, and other decorating fare.

“ _I’m_  the one who took them when I moved out, remember? Exactly because I knew you’d never set up a tree.”

“I had a tree last year.”

“It was ten inches tall and its lights were powered by a USB cord. Not exactly big enough to put presents under.”

“Which is another draw back to having a real tree: Now I have to populate it with presents. This coming back home thing of yours is getting expensive.”

“Uh uh. Like I haven’t already seen the top shelf in your bedroom closet.”

“And why exactly were you in my bedroom closet?”

“It’s where you always keep the presents.”

“When you were a kid.”

“I was never a kid,” she came back, and then kissed him on the cheek. “But you loved me anyway.”

“Yeah,” he said, after flashing her a look of faked irritation. “I guess you kinda grew on me. A bit like a weed. But, anyway, that’s a pretty ballsy assumption. Who’s to say those presents are for you?”

“I’m pretty sure the thing wrapped up to look exactly like a compound bow isn’t a regifted ugly sweater for that lady friend of yours.”

Haymitch humphed.

“Yeah well, haven’t decided whether to give it to you yet.”

“Because I might shoot you with it.”

“Exactly.”

Katniss started picking through the boxes, and pulled out a glass pickle ornament. It was one Prim had begged Haymitch into buying the first Christmas after their parents had died.

Haymitch noticed Katniss drawing her fingers over it.

“Did you call her back yet?”

Katniss tucked her braid back behind her ear with a quiet, “No.”

“You should take her up on the offer. You haven’t seen her in almost a year.”

“What, and spend Christmas as an  outsider with my sister’s boyfriend’s family?” She shook her head. “Not my idea of fun.”

“It’s a hell of a lot better than hanging out here with your Uncle Grinch while pretending you’re not hurt about the boy. It might distract you. Throw on a bikini and you might even meet one of those muscled surfer types, too.”

She frowned at his attempt to cheer her up.

“I have plans here. And anyway, gross about the surfers.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're into 'Demi Moore' or whatever that lecture was you gave me once. I don't really need to know what floats your boat, Katniss. You swing both ways, whatever. I love you just the same. What matters is-"

Katniss squeaked. "I'm not... It was _'demisexual_ ,' Haymitch! I'm not..." Her cheeks had flamed red. "Just _ugggg_!" She put the pickle down on the coffee table, digging studiously through the box for other ornaments as an excuse to avoid looking at him. "You just like messing with me."

Haymitch chuckled proudly.

"I'm family; it's my job." But then tapped her shoulder with the bottom of his beer bottle, growing serious. "Come on, a little California would do you some good."

"I'm fine. Christmas will be fine.

"Watching streaming video with your uncle over beer isn’t exactly a 'fine' Christmas, sweetheart.”

A thought made her snort. “It is if we watch the Hallmark Channel.”

“Like hell!”

She grinned. “Yeah, agreed.”

Haymitch took the pickle and placed it front and center on the tree, despite her complaints about it needing to go on last. Then, he unmuted the television and they decorated to the background noise of Storage Wars until Katniss caught a glimpse of her watch twenty minutes later.

“Here,” she handed him a strand of tinsel and got up.

“I hate tinsel.”

“Then ditch it by wrapping it in the loving arms of our tree-creature.”

She disappeared to her room, then reemerged carrying a wrapped present. She slipped into her sneakers and jacket.

“And where are you going?”

“To deliver a present.”

“To who?”

“Don’t forget to water the tree,” she said as she left.

“Another reason to have a fake tree,” he grumbled once he was alone. He shook the dregs from his beer into the base, then gave the tree his best stink eye, “You start dripping resin onto my carpet, son, and it’s to the fireplace with you.”


	5. Fireplace - Eight Days to Christmas

**Eight Days to Christmas - Fireplace**

The gas fireplace glowed warm, its line of flames flickering brightly in the dim, relaxed lighting at the bar-side of the brewery’s restaurant. The holiday season made for busy evenings, but quieter lunch services, and the owners happily let staff enjoy relaxed mornings around Christmas as a reward for year round butt-busting. Annie had taken advantage and pulled Katniss aside for a girl-to-girl cup of tea in the comfy, oversized cigar chairs that lined the fireplace, trying to sooth the aftermath of Finnick’s Secret Santa disaster and get Katniss to open up about what had actually happened between her and Peeta. 

“So you’ve been leaving him a present a day… To what, bring him back?”

Katniss had been successful in not crying, but she had to sniff a little at that question. She bought herself an extra moment by sipping from her mug.

“I don’t know. I mean, no. When he slammed the door in my face on Thanksgiving, I think—”

“He actually slammed the door on you?”

Katniss shrunk a little into her chair.

“No. He was his typical kind self. But very firm, and very brief, so it might as well’ve been a door slam.”

“Okay.”

“But I mean, I think that means it’s over. And the fact that he hasn’t tried to contact me, and didn’t tell Finnick he was sorry or that he wanted to see me… Well… That sort of says it.”

“But you’re sure he loved you?”

“What’s to love,” she whispered back, then grunted.

“You are forbidden from thinking like that,” Annie said, stern but gentle. “Does he love you or not? Not what your insecurity tells you, or circumstances, but what your gut tells you?”

Katniss stared into the flames.

“Hey,” Annie reached over and pressed lightly against her shoulder, “don’t hide.”

Katniss didn’t look away from the fire, but did sigh.

“Yes. Yes, I think he does.”

“And so the presents  _are_ your way of trying to woo him back.”

“They’re my way of…” She shook her head, feeling lost. “I don’t know. I  _thought_ they were my way of saying goodbye. I wanted the last thing he got from us to be seeing himself the way I see him. With the thing coming up on Christmas Eve, I want that to be special. I want him to see how much he’s worth to the people around him. I want him to  _get it_ that he’s not insignificant.”

She slumped forward, elbows on knees after setting her mug on the coffee table.

“I feel hollow, Annie.” Katniss finally looked at her. “I feel like life will  _never_  be good again. I feel like it’s over, when I thought maybe everything I’d been waiting for had finally started.”

“Ah, baby,” Annie got up and sat on the arm of Katniss’ chair, rubbing small circles on her back.

“Hey,” Finnick interrupted, walking up on them, “how are two of my five loveliest ladies?”

Annie gave him sad smile.

“We’re coping.”

He leaned against the slate-tiled mantle and gave their mood a few moments of respect, but then pushed himself fully upright and clucked his tongue.

“Welp, nothing for the blues like a good day’s work! Your swoon-worthy leader,” he waved his hand down his body with humorous flair, “needs all hands on deck save the day from sick calls, grumpy kitchen staff, undelivered food deliveries, and that table of Bored Housewife regulars that shows up to our perfectly fine  _beer_  brewery every Monday just to demand we serve them champagne.”

Neither of them moved, so he double clapped.

“Seriously, no moping, or I’m gonna instigate a flair requirement.”

With that, he left to tend something at the bar.

Katniss continued to stare into the fire.

“I hate champaign,” she finally grumbled. “Our margin on it sucks.”

“I know, honey,”Annie gave her shoulders a squeeze, “love’s expensive sometimes.” She stood and pulled Katniss to her feet. “Come on, give me your mug and go find a vendor you can yell at over the phone; it’ll make you feel better.”

Katniss humphed, but stood.

“And try not to spend too much time in the dumps today. Pillow talk gossip says Finn’s working on things from Peeta’s end.”

Katniss narrowed her eyes, wary.

Annie’s lips pressed thin. “No one can say whether anything’ll come of it, but give him a chance to work.”

Once Katniss had trudged off for her office, Finnick came out from behind the bar and pulled Annie into a loose embrace.

“I heard that. Way to put the pressure on.”

“Baby, you can help him fix this.”

“I’m trying. They guy’s stubborn, though.” Finnick was staring at Annie’s lips and pressed a quick kiss there.  “He’s dissatisfied with the future he thinks he can offer; the age thing crap’s just a wingman for his insecurity. And plus it really kicks a guy in the nuts when he knows to give his girl what she deserves, he’ll have to accept her help to do it.”

“That’s men for you,” Annie joked. “They either think they’re amazing, or that they’re losers. Doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of wiggle room in the middle with you guys.”

“Hey, I’ve got a  _lot_  of wiggle,” he said seductively, swaying her hips with his as part of their embrace. It made her snort. “And anyway, it’s more than just a come to your senses thing with this guy. He looks like shit. You know that picture she has on her computer of them at the zoo?”

Annie nodded.

“I didn’t recognize him when I went into the bakery. He’s got this raggedy looking beard thing going, and it looks like he hasn’t slept for weeks. I mean, I talked him up, but the guy seriously looks like he’s circling the drain.”

“But does he love her?”

“No doubt.”

“Well, then I have faith in you.”

He raised his eyebrow, considering.

“Old Saint Finnick and the The Christmas Miracle?”

She gave him a kiss, laced with a little passion, “Something like that. I do love it when you don the Big Guy suit.”

Finnick smiled, but the longer he stared at her, the more serious he looked.

“I love you,” he whispered.  “You’re too good for me.”

Annie’s eyes glistened almost immediately, but then she sniffed it away.

“I need ten minutes with you and chef sometime today,” she tugged on the front of his shirt, “to compare checklists for the Youth Center thing.”

“Done. But do me a favor and try to time it for when the cham-pain-yayas are here. That way I have an excuse to not deal with them.”

She swatted him on the back of pants as a sign to get back to work, but then snagged his sleeve right before he was out of reach.

“Just a second.” She narrowed her eyes, playfully suspicious. “You said two of the  _five_  loveliest women. Who exactly are the other three?”

Finnick grinned like he had a secret he wasn’t going to share.

Until she pinched him in the armpit.

“Ow! Okay, okay,” he laughed. “You. Katniss. My aunt Mags. And…”

“And?”

“I can’t imagine us having fewer than two girls, can you?”

Annie gasped an inhale.

“Gotta go,” Finnick winked, then left her stunned in place.


	6. Seven Days to Christmas - Aprons

**Seven Days to Christmas - Writer’s Choice: Aprons  
**

“Hey, Christmas tree.”

Johanna Mason walked into Katniss’ office without knocking, then shoved papers to the side of her desk for a place to sit. She swung her legs, making the unit wobble.

“Christmas tree?”

“Well, you’re an Evergreen right?”

“Original. I haven’t heard that one since high school.” Katniss scowled. “I know why you’re here, Jo. And the answer is still, ‘no.’ Aprons emblazoned with nude models are not a legitimate purchase request.”

“New aprons for clearing out the mash tun are  _absolutely_  a legitimate purchase request. Hot, steamy business, that work.”

Katniss was not impressed.

“Jo, the one you ordered for Cato has a fake penis attached to it.”

Johanna stared at her nails, “It’s not like it’s very big.”

Katniss squeezed her forehead and screwed her eyes shut. But then, a few seconds later, she gave up and snorted. “The nipples on that thing though! I've at least got darker skin, and even mine aren't that dark.”

"Oooooh!" Johanna rubbed her hands together greedily and leaned forward with an exaggerated leer, “Let’s get a peek!”

Katniss’s eyes went wide and she instinctively cupped each of her breasts with a hand.

“You scare me, Jo," she joked, once she’d shaken off the shock.

“Admit it, it's a turn on.”

Katniss snorted again, before turning back to her computer work.

“Credit for trying, though,” she conceded. “If they hadn’t been so much cheaper than the heavy duty canvas ones we usually buy, I wouldn’t have bothered to look up what you were ordering.”

“So you’re saying you denied my request because I’m spending  _too little_ money. You’re such a killjoy.”

Katniss looked thoughtful.

“I did like the one with the ripped guy wearing black lace panties, though. He was PDH.”

“Huh. Katniss Evergreen likes a little lace on her man’s stocking; I knew you had a kink in there somewhere.”

Katniss blushed, but laughed, too.

“Hey, so speaking about studs and aprons,” Jo, hooked the arm of Katniss’ chair wither her boot and swiveled her back around, “when’s loaf boy gonna get his ass together and finally introduce himself? I was hoping to get him drunk at the staff party and see how many ways I can embarrass you.”

“Dunno,” Katniss said, clearing her throat and doing her best to pretend everything was fine.  “Christmas is his busiest season.”

Johanna might not have caught on to her tension, except that Katniss couldn’t keep her fingers from scratching along the seams of her slacks. Johanna’s eyes narrowed, wordlessly interrogating her in a way Katniss found unbearable. Then, Johanna’s legs stopped swinging when realization seemed to hit.

If there was anyone worse at talking about emotions that Katniss, it was Johanna, so right as it looked like she was about to say something sympathetic and caring, she seemed to catch herself, and snapped her gaze away, jaw high in the air as she stared at something on the ceiling.

She coughed.

“Anyway,” she pushed off the desk and shoved her thumbs through the hammer loops of her overalls, avoiding looking at Katniss straight-on, “eff off, loser, I’m supposed to be working.”

“Yeah, me too,” Katniss said softly, and stared down at her lap. She hated that someone else knew the truth.

“Okay,” Johanna said.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

It still took a few seconds of Johanna staring at anywhere but Katniss for her to actually walk out of the room.

“Great,” Katniss moaned, and collapsed forward over her lap, face in her hands.

“What did I say yesterday about moping?”

Finnick was standing in her doorway.

“When it rains, it pours,” Katniss muttered to herself, sitting back up. Then to him, “What do you need?”

“This is the sixth time in three weeks we’re gonna have to scratch the brisket sandwich off the menu ‘cause the guy on Jefferson can’t make his delivery time. My lunch chef’s ready to stab someone.”

“Can’t we use the hamburger buns instead?”

Finnick gave her a disappointed look, and a short, definitive, “No.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Go pick up the rolls for me.”

Katniss’ eyebrows shot up. “Me? Send Delly or someone.”

“You’re not busy, and I don’t have anyone to send. We’re down a server with a sick call, and Annie’s off with two more plus one of the kitchen staff for a catered luncheon downtown.”

“But I’m in the middle of placing—”

“Katniss, you were assuming the plane crash position. That’s moping, not working.” He nodded to her to get up. He held out a set of keys until she opened her palm to take them. “I need them back here in half an hour. Go please. I’m not even joking.”

Katniss stood and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair, but she wasn’t happy about it.

“How am I supposed to get to Jefferson and back in thirty minutes in this weather?”

“Not Jefferson. Someplace closer. As of this morning, chef phoned in a backup. They’re supposed to’ve had the rolls baked and crated for pickup by now. Chef wants them here pronto.”

Katniss zipped her jacket and pocketed the keys, letting Finnick lead her down the hall towards the delivery entrance where the brewery vans parked. Outside on the landing, she had to zip her jacket up an extra inch; sleet was falling in fast sheets, blown in waves by a nasty wind.

“I hate you,” she grumbled miserably, giving Finnick a look that said she momentarily half meant it. “Do I get an address?”

Finnick’s expression was all business.

“Didn’t I say? You know the new bakery by heart.”

“Finnick, no!”

He gave her a  _too-bad_  look, then pulled the delivery door closed between them.

__________

Katniss backed the van up to the bakery’s receiving door parallel to the bakery’s van, then sat in the cab trying to collect herself.  Anxiety made it difficult to breathe. Would Peeta be the one there when she knocked on the back door? Or would he have Thom lined up to answer, making sure to stay out in the front of the shop so he wouldn’t have to see her?

What if he was the one who answered, but only because he didn’t know she was the one who’d been sent?

And then, what if he thought it had been her idea, and felt tricked?

A light tap on her window made her jump.

Peeta was standing outside her door.

His, “Hey,” was muted by the window.

Everything stopped for Katniss, except her stomach, which felt like it was falling at high speed. She fisted her hands together and pressed them into her belly to fight the feeling.

He waited, but when she didn’t open the door, he opened it for her.

“Hi.” His voice was quiet. His eyes explored her face. He tried to offer a smile, but it just made him look like he was in pain.

“It wasn’t me,” she blurted out. “It was Finnick.”

“What was Finnick?”

“He said he didn’t have anyone else to come here.”

At this, Peeta noticeably relaxed.

“Katniss, we have a van. I could’ve sent Thom over with the rolls, but Finnick insisted he had a driver. I’m not dumb; it was obvious what he was doing.”

Katniss’ held in a breath, waiting for Peeta to follow that with something terrible, like maybe he’d went with it because he’d wanted the opportunity to make sure she’d accepted they were over.  

But he didn’t.

Katniss found herself assessing him.  Shoulders stooped. Under his eyes, dark. Badly unshaven. Sleet catching in his hair, which was in desperate need of a trim. A beard that looked awful, unevenly thin in unflattering ways.

“So, uh, how’ve you been?”

 _Miserable_ , she thought.

So she said, “You can probably guess.”

He kicked at a frozen clump of slush, looking down.

“Yeah. So, but,” he looked back up. “You look good, though.”

“Uh… yeah.  I mean, thanks.” She looked towards the bakery’s door, then glanced over her shoulder at the brewery truck. For months, she’d wanted nothing more than to be talking to him again, face to face like this, but now she just felt like running.

When she caught his expression of disappointment, it confused her, then gave her a spark of hope.

“So,” she kicked the frozen slush clump back his way, working up a smile, “going with a beard now, I see.”

He scratched at it.

“Yeah, it looks like crap, I know. I don’t think I have the genes for one.”

With that old, familiar tone of self-denigration, she wanted to argue back at him with a compliment. But the reality was, he looked anything but healthy, and the beard only made him look a little unhinged.

Numbers were always safe.

“How’ve sales been?”

“Oh, uh, good. It’s good. Yeah.” He perked up, like he was glad she was willing to make small talk. “How’s it at the brewery?”

“It’s going well. Hard to run out of customers when you have the best beer and brisket in town.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I hear it’s good.”

His own words made him frown. Katniss guessed it was because he’d never made it by to have lunch there with her, despite the many times he’d promised.

She felt obligated to boost him up.

So she forced a wide smile. “And now they’ll be an even bigger hit.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” she nodded towards the building, “Mellark rolls. The public will realize what they’ve been missing once they try them today.”

He laughed at the compliment.

“I don’t know about that. But so far as I know, it’s just a one-time thing.”

“Hey,” she shuffled forward and stubbed her boot into his, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Reject compliments. I hate it when you do that. I really just…” She shook her head, then said softly, “I really hate it when you do that.”

He swallowed loud enough for her to hear, meeting her eyes. He looked uncomfortable.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that, but when he crossed his arms and started to shiver, she nodded towards the building again.

“Maybe we should go inside where it’s warmer. A t-shirt and an apron aren’t exactly a match for Old Man Winter.” For a brief flicker, the image of the apron she’d mentioned liking to Johanna flashed in front of her, and her eyes darted down to his waist, mind automatically trying to make the transposition. 

Her cheeks burned red, and she was grateful the cold weather would cover it.

“Yeah.” He held his arm out for her to go ahead, then reached around her and opened the door, sliding his hand up high along the frame so Katniss could slip inside underneath. It made her ache, because it was a reminder of things gone but still familiar.

He went immediately to a tall stack of wide, plastic crates against one of the walls, and muscled one up between his arms like a giant basket.

“Hey, Thom, take a break and help me load up those rolls.”

“Sure thing, boss.” The man who Katniss used to joke was a taller, ganglier, and just-graying version of Peeta pulled his hands from a mixing vat and snapped off his gloves. It was only then that he noticed her. “Katniss!” He smiled immediately, and came over to give her a hug. “Pardon the apron,” he said, trying to avoid hugging close enough to transfer ingredients onto her jacket.

“Good to see you, Thom,” she said. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s… you know.”  Thom shrugged, frowning a little. “But hey, I’ll tell her you came by today and hearing that you’re back will be good medicine for her.”

Peeta cleared his throat, at which Thom looked from him then back to Katniss, then shrugged and went to help.  

Katniss helped door duty, and within a few minutes everything was loaded.  She followed Peeta back inside for the invoice.

“Oh my God!” Rue intercepted Katniss as soon as she was back in the door, squeezing her with  a neck-breaking hug. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve missed you so much!”

“You too, Rue,” she closed her eyes and enjoyed the friendship.

Whatever had happened between her and Peeta, it hadn’t soured Rue or Thom against her.

“Hey, come out and I’ll get you a cheese bun.”

Peeta tried to intervene.

“Rue, she’s got to get back to the brewery.”

“No,” Katniss half-shouted, then dialed it back when both of them looked at her. She didn’t want to go just yet. “I… haven’t had one in a few months. I’d love one. It’ll just take a minute.”

“Then come on." Rue grabbed her hand and pulled her through to the front.

Peeta followed, with no indication that his statement had been a personal desire for her to go.

Hope rose higher.

She gave him a weak smile. He looked down and scratched at his temple, but then looked back up and managed to return one.

Her heart started pounding. He just stared back. Her stomach was flipping. He was rocking on his feet.

“I see a help wanted sign,” she pointed out, trying to save them from the painful awkwardness.

“Yeah,” Peeta winced. “Cashmere apparently only intended to work until she had enough money saved for Spring Break. Didn’t tell me. Quit through a no-show.”

“What a loss that was,” Rue said sarcastically, while shaking out a paper bag to expand it. She stepped over to the baskets with the buns in them, calling back over her shoulder, “Her Facebook page says she was up at the lodge skiing with her friends all weekend. Apparently, doing something as mundane as clerking for a bakery Fridays and Saturdays was too tedious for her. Good riddance.”

Katniss knew Peeta was uncomfortable with anyone being gossiped about, and recognized the start of his protest, but then he looked to think better of it.

“Yeah, yeah I guess so,” he conceded.

That was progress, Katniss thought, believing he had deserved better than what he’d gotten.

When he ran his hands through his hair and scratched wildly at his scalp, the wetness from his time outside made his hair stick together and stand on end. Katniss realized he needed more than a shave. He needed a trim. He needed sleep. He looked more run down than he’d had the year before, when they’d been in night class together and he was getting less than five hours of a sleep at night.

She reached her hand up to smooth the hair back down, but then caught herself.

Peeta was watching, clearing his throat and flattening the hair himself once she let her hand fall back.

Rue had come over and handed the bag over.

“I gave you three.”

Katniss tried to pay, but Peeta stopped her.

Had he  _meant_  to wrap his fingers around her hand when he pushed her wallet away? His expression didn’t tell her.

Her heart was pounding again.

Things went quiet.

Rue picked up on it and went into the back, both of them watching the hanging divider sway until it completely stilled.

Once they were looking at each other again, her mind wanted to use his eyes like a screen, projecting memories up on them like little movies: Him studying next to her in class, tongue pinched between his teeth. Him carrying her over a slush puddle, piggy-back, so her shoes wouldn’t get wet. Him yanking her hand— because they’d been holding hands— so he could point excitedly at a tiger playing with a big ball at the zoo.

Them suffering awkwardly through their first dinner together with Haymitch. Them closing down the shop together on nights he was short staffed.

Them kissing in his office.

Them making out on his couch upstairs and watching television until they fell asleep.  Many times.

Her frowning at him over his bookkeeping habits. Him telling her not to waste every one of her Saturdays working at the bakery instead of taking a day off she deserved. Her saying she enjoyed being around him, which made it not actually work. Him, frustrated, yelling at her that he didn’t need to feel like a stray dog benefiting from a little girl’s pulled heartstrings.

Her screaming at him that he didn’t have the right to tell her she shouldn’t throw away her life on him.

“You look so tired, Peeta.”

He gave her a grim smile.

“I am.”

“Please let me help.”

“Katniss, I don’t want you wasting—”

“Peeta, come on, stop.  At least let me sneak in for a few hours to do the books this evening. I’d bet a hundred dollars you haven’t done them in at least a week.”

He swallowed, eyes falling in admission.

“Let me take that off you. Let me help a little. You know you could use it. And if you don’t like my help coming because I love you, then you can pay me.”

She gave in to the need to reach over and rub her palm back and forth along his cheek. The wiry hair there felt unfamiliar to her skin, but her touch seemed very familiar to him. His eyes closed, and her name came out as a pained groan.

“You are so hard to say no to, Katniss.”

“No hard enough, apparently, “ she said, not hiding the hurt.

His head rolled back and a tortured sound gurgled from his throat.

“Peeta, please let me help with the books tonight. It’s as much for me as for you.”

Peeta straightened his neck, scrubbed his hands over his face like he was bracing himself for something, then gave her a sad smile and a nod.

“Okay. I could use the help.”


	7. Hot Chocolate - Still Seven (But Almost Six) Days to Christmas

**A/N**  - Part Seven of Pasty White Raisin Christmas Edition. And for those who’ve realized I didn’t archive it well:  **<https://dandeliononfire.tumblr.com/myff>**   
I’ve put in links there to all previous chapters.  

February was nuts busy and I’ve been sick all March leading up to a really serious bout of illness at the beginning of April that I’m still recovering from. I’ve had no caffeine for 13 days, and mostly I sleep or lay down (and read) when I don’t have to drag myself to work. I can’t make any promises about when the next update will be to this or Geometry, even though I have both outlined. I’m sorry. Maybe the muse will hit tomorrow. Maybe in a month. I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.

Thanks goes to [@creamytinydays](https://tmblr.co/mJG_B-G2ysIYdpgCFsl7aJA) who was/is an  **amazing**  beta. Still, I did some post-beta fiddling per her advice and so of course all subsequent errors (as always) are mine.

Next chapter will focus on- dun-dun-DUN! - Johanna and Thom!

________________

**Still Seven, but almost Six, Days to Christmas - Hot Chocolate**

 

Katniss had come back to the bakery after work, after making a detour home. The weather had only worsened, calling for a blizzard, and what should’ve been a thirty-minute trip had turned into an hour, between rush hour traffic and poor conditions. She’d been afraid to park her car in one of the angled parking spots lining the street. Narrow, old-town lanes were quaint, but not when plows would probably continue to run all evening and bury any car parked overnight.  By the time she’d finally pulled into the alley, the bakery van had gone, along with Peeta.

He had wedged a note in the door jamb:

_I went to deliver to the youth center. Find the key where time is breaking_

They’d binge-watched Doctor Who together over the summer, and Peeta had started joking the giant crack in the bakery’s cement delivery landing looked just like the ‘Crack in Time.’

Katniss had found the key and retrieved it, trying not to read anything into Peeta’s referencing some of their time together. Inside, the kitchen had still needed the last stages of cleaning, with a few sink-fulls of pans, and some countertops left unwiped. Usually, Thom would still be there cleaning while Peeta went to make the delivery, but perhaps because of the weather he’d sent him home early.

Katniss’ stomach had tightened at the realization that once Peeta got back, they’d be alone, and her mind had raced at what might be in store.  The trip earlier had brought her hope, but for all she knew, he’d only agreed to let her work the books because he wanted a quiet space to apologize for _how_  he’d broken up, but not actually for breaking it off.

She’d shivered, despite the kitchen’s warmth, then gone straight to Peeta’s office.

He’d come back from his delivery and had tried to make awkward small talk, but between the anxiety she felt because he was clearly avoiding talking about them, and her absolute shock at the state of his books, she’d told him she needed some isolation or she wouldn’t be able to work.

To her relief, he’d looked disappointed. He’d closed the door to give her privacy and she’d gone back working to the once-familiar background noise of pots and pans clanging in the metal sink, trays sliding into their metal racks, and other murmurous noises for the next day’s prep.  He’d eased into the office again, once he’d done for the evening, but by then she’d lost herself completely in what was a disaster of numbers and ledgers and realized after checking the bakery’s account online, hours were literally of the essence. She’d told him to go upstairs, forcing a smile to reassure him, and promised she’d go up and knock once she was done.

Sometime later, she heard his heavy footfalls again. He stopped in the doorway, but she didn’t lift her head to see more than his legs.

By then, she was angry with how long he’d let the books go, because neglect put the bakery at risk, which ultimately made it even less likely he’d ever get over his fear that his life would bring hers down. And she was also exhausted.

“Hey,” he said, in a way that made her feel he was depressed at the sight of her still working.

She couldn’t face him without becoming emotional, so she pretended not to hear him, staring at a file.

 

He sighed, then shuffled away. Katniss looked up to watch him go, then pushed the file out of the way and struggled to finish up her work. She was done with the books, but there was too much cash and too many checks to do in one deposit with the automated teller, so she was having to count and make slips for a series of deposits, paperclipping them into batches. Peeta moving around in the kitchen, at a time when there was really no reason for him to be downstairs instead of sleeping– except to see her– made it difficult to concentrate and she kept having to recount.

Ten minutes later, he was back. She didn’t look up, but held her hand for him to stop until she finished one last count.  

“Not sure I can afford this many hours for an accountant,” he tried to joke. “What’s the 1099 up to?”

Once she was done counting, she found something else she could pretend to look at while ignoring him.

Peeta sighed.

“Look, I know I look like a bad version of Duck Dynasty, but it’s okay to actually look at me.” He reached over and placed a mug on the desk for her. “Even if it means you’ll be staring in horror.”

The smell of hot cocoa wafted to her from the mug, the tendrils of steamy, creamy goodness trying to seduce her nose. It was hot chocolate like only Peeta could make. Milk. A touch of heavy cream. Baking chocolate melted slowly and wisked in until perfectly, lusciously joined with the dairy. A pinch of nutmeg, because Katniss loved nutmeg. A hint of cinnamon.  And turbanado sugar— she had always sworn she could taste the difference over plain table sugar—  enough to make even Laura Hollis feel like a daily required serving of blood glucose had been met.

It had been  _so_  long since she’d had his made-from-scratch _just-for-Katniss_  miracle-in-a-mug.

Against her better judgment, she clasped it between her hands and inhaled deeply, eyes closing instantly and body betraying her by releasing a moan of pleasure just from the olfactory stimulation alone.

She opened one eye to peek up at him, and scowled at his smirk. She was mad about the state of his books. She would be mad.

She would be mad.

“And this,” he gloated, clearly self-satisfied as a piece of parchment paper went down onto the desk as well, gloriously laden with a chocolate-filled croissant.

 _Aw f-it_ , she thought to herself.

“Marry me and have my babies,” she grumbled in a joke after taking a sip of the chocolate.  But then she froze.

That was the kind of joke she’d been making all year.

Back when they were together. Back when he was hers.

But he wasn’t hers anymore.

She braced herself, then looked up from her mug. Peeta was staring at the desk between them, in thought. But then after a few beats he looked right at her, the blue eyes she loved aiming straight and true for hers, and he grinned wide enough that not even the Beard from Bargain Hut could hide it.

“Acceptable offering, then?”

Katniss dug deep, being serious, “Peeta, you always are.”

He looked away again, barking a laugh in a way she knew was him being nervous. But, he tried to play it cool, anyway.

“Don’t judge yet. You haven’t tried the pastry. It’s from yesterday, so it’s definitely stale.  Though,” he looked up at the wall clock, “you’ve been at it for almost six hours, so maybe your hunger will give me the edge.”

That yanked Katniss wide awake. Her head snapped to see the clock, then she checked her phone.

11:37pm

The chair screeched backwards on the floor as she bolted up, then she wedged the croissant between her teeth and started wrestling herself into her jacket.

Peeta stood, confused but ready to be of help as soon as he knew what was happening.

“What’s wrong?”

“Giyoco.”

“What?”

“ _Gi yo co! We gago ban!_ ”

Katniss was frantically grabbing at the various piles of cash, checks, and deposit slips, filling three separate deposit bags. Once they were full, she pulled the pastry out of her mouth and put it back down on the table.

“ _Peeta, get your coat!_  We need to get to the cash machine before midnight.”

He blinked several times, alarmed.

“But I’ve been making money.”

Katniss gave him an exasperated look.

“Peeta! You haven’t emptied the safe and made a deposit!”

“I made a deposit last week. And anyway, the credit transactions go straight in.”

Katniss’ mouth dropped open. Then her eyes narrowed.  “The credit transactions aren’t enough.”

Peeta’s irritation came out, growing defensive. “But I did make a deposit last week, Katniss. I’m not a complete incompetent.”

“For how much?”

“What?”

“How much was the deposit?” she challenged.

“Uh,” he scratched at the stubble on his throat, “like two thousand and something?”

“Two thousand, four hundred and thirty dollars?

“Yeah,” he lit up, “that’s what it was.”

“Peeta, that was forever ago.”

“No.”

She shook her head. And in that instant, the reminder of how critical the books had been, lit a flash of anger in her inner coil and every emotion of frustration she’d tamped down while working surged up. She was angry at him for not asking for help, whether from her for the bookkeeping, or from Thom to cover other duties while he did the books himself.  She was angry that while his business was going well, his compulsive need to believe everything was falling apart had led him to  _treat_ everything as though it was falling apart.

Angry that he hadn’t been taking pay.  

Angry that he didn’t take care of himself.

Angry that he’d shut the door on her on Thanksgiving.

She refused to look at him as she brushed by out of the office, afraid she’d yell, or worse, start crying, and she didn’t want to do either. She wanted to collect herself; keep her mouth shut long enough she could calm down.

Mad as she was, Katniss still wanted–  _needed_ –  the man with the hot chocolate and his awful beard.

So instead, she grabbed his coat off the hook by the back door and held it for him.

“We’re going. Now.”

He followed her out into the dark front of shop. He must have been having his own internal struggle, because his irritation was gone and instead was resignation. “How bad is it?”

She stopped once she was to the front door for him to unlock it.

“How long do you  _really_ think it’s been since you’ve emptied the safe and made a deposit run? And a hint: It isn’t seven days.”

“Uh,” Peeta got the door unlocked, but started pushing and yanking the door to get the accumulating snow on the sidewalk out of the way. The wind didn’t help. “Ten days, maybe?”

Katniss blinked.

“Twenty, Peeta. It’s been twenty days! How do you go twenty days without making a deposit? You’ve got three vendor checks pending that can overdraft your business checking, because the only thing that’s been going in are the credit transactions. Right now, we're walking down to the bank to make a night deposit.  _And then_ …”

She closed her eyes, glad that the store only received a fraction of the street lamp light from outside, so Peeta probably couldn’t see her expression. She held the banking bags against herself, trying to ward off a renewed desire to explode, keeping it in and forcing it back down deep inside with a prolonged growl until it detonated in the safety of her chest.

“It’ll be fine,” she managed, eyes screwed shut for a moment longer, because she hoped that was the case. “We just need to go.”

Peeta finally managed to get the door all the way open. He had to use his body to leverage it against the wind gusts so it didn’t bash into Katniss as she stepped out behind him.

They post-holed down the three blocks of snowy sidewalk to the bank in silence. The gusts were so bad, Peeta had to grab her jacket multiple times just so she didn’t get blown forward off her feet. Once there, they both kicked at a mound of snow in front of the glass enclosure’s door before Katniss swiped the bakery’s debit card to let them into the cash machine.

Peeta had to wrestle the door closed against the wind, but then stayed quiet as Katniss went to work. With the the machine’s physical limitations, it took ten separate transactions for her to make the entirety of the deposit. She checked the receipt for the last transaction.

12:00am.

Tension drained from her shoulders; that should be good enough.

“Here, give me your wallet.”

Peeta pulled it from his jeans without questioning, until she pulled his debit card out.

“What are you doing?”

“Depositing your paycheck. You get two thousand dollars. Merry Christmas.”

“Katniss, I can’t afford that!”

“Yes, you can.” She struggled to keep her hackles down at the audacity of  _him_ arguing the books  _with her_. She licked her lips, then pressed a hand against his chest, trying to calm him and to stay calm herself. “Do you have any idea how much money you’ve netted in the last thirty days?”

“No, because obviously I’m a screw up, okay?” He growled, then ran his hands through his hair. “I get it. But I can’t take a paycheck, okay? I’m telling you, I know. I took a thousand at the beginning of the month; I’m fine.”

She spoke slowly, looking him right in the eyes.  Her calm was back, now that the deposits had been made.

“Peeta, you’re not a screw up. And you have enough for a paycheck.” She raised her hand from his jacket and brushed away some of the snow that had clumped onto his beard. His eyes softened and he blew out a breath. She found herself running her fingers through the beard, then letting them slide down the edge of his jaw and stopping to rest with her palm against his neck.  

“Katniss, you don’t understand.” He captured her hand in his two cold ones, pulling it down between them so he could make his case.  “I know this month looks good. But January and March are always red months, and February only cuts even because of Valentine’s Day.  Extra money from December always stays in to cover that. Please.”

“Right, because I have no idea what your numbers look like.”

But Peeta wasn’t giving. “I know you care, but–”

“ _Care?_ ” Katniss shouted back, disbelieving.

“–this is my business, and it needs to be my responsibility.”

Her blood boiled, and she was suddenly on the verge of tears. About everything. She dug her nails into her palms to try and not lose her temper.

“I know your books, Peeta. You paid off that small business loan back in September. That’s five-hundred-and-eighty-five extra dollars a month. You negotiated an extra ten percent off with those two vendors back in March by committing to purchase larger amounts at once instead of purchasing as-needed.”

“Yeah, well,” he looked away, swallowing. In a quiet voice, “You did that, not me.”

“No,  _you did that_ ,on the advice of a competent bookkeeper. Owners need bookkeepers. And any bookkeeper would have given you that advice. Any bookkeeper who hadn’t been convincing you for four years that you were on the razor-edge of closing just to hide the fact he was embezzling.”

Peeta shook his head, looking back.

“And it was my fault I fell for it. Katniss, this,” he motioned between them, “needs to stop.” The quiet hardness in his tone, the way he looked straight over her head and wiped all emotion from his face, had the same unmistakable finality that he’d had when he’d told her they were done. The same look and tone he’d used a year before, on campus after class when she’d asked him to hot chocolate after he’d been avoiding her for three weeks:

> _… and after a moment he looked up, eyes cold and jaw set._
> 
> _“Katniss, this crush you have on me is childish. It’s flattering. And I’m sorry if I let myself enjoy it too much, and I’m especially sorry if my conduct misled you in any way. But this has to stop. And I should have said it a long time ago.”_
> 
> _She didn’t move when he stepped around her and walked away._
> 
> _She didn’t move for a full five minutes, until the cold had invaded her bones and she was shivering._

Fear and panic both came for her. Devastation wanted her. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, and that pushed some of those tears out. She focused on breathing. On thinking, not reacting. She’d been down this road before. The exact one. He was still trying to drive her away because he felt inadequate..

“Don’t do this. Come on, this is me, Peeta.  _This is us!_ ”

Peeta’s head fell back and he groaned as he dug his hands into his hair.

“Dammit, Katniss, please,” he pleaded.  

“The only place your life is circling the drain  _is in your head_.  Ask Thom or Rue or me or Haymitch. Things aren’t just ‘not bad,’ they’re  _fine_. And Peeta, ‘fine’ is perfectly alright. ‘Fine’ is what the rest of us in the world consider lucky. You’ve been going at it for so long that part of you refuses to step back and accept that you’re not at war anymore. Not with losing the bakery. Not with your brothers bailing. Not with your mom. Not with the finances. You’re fine. I need you to decide to see things for how they really are, and be okay with ‘fine,’ too.”

His expression softened, and his hands came up to hold her elbows, but otherwise he didn’t move, only stared, face a little ghostly under the cast of the enclosure’s flickering overhead fluorescence.  It really hit her, then, in that moment, just how much he looked like a stranger with his beard, and yet his eyes would always be the same.  

“I love you,” she finished quietly. “It’s not me taking pity, or thinking you’re some nearly lost cause I can save. You’re not a project. I need you to trust me. I will never find what I have with you with someone else . You are literally ripping my heart out.”

She pushed up to her toes and kissed him. The rough texture of his new face felt alien to her, but he groaned, and closed his eyes, so she leaned in to increase the pressure between their lips.

But after a few seconds, he pulled back, hard, and his face told the story of gathering determination. He shook his head.

“I just can’t see it. What I see is a future where I won’t be around to help with kids, because I’m too busy trying to keep the bakery afloat. Up early. Bed early. Ten years from now they’ll have an exhausted fifty-year old father and a mother who’s had to do everything herself. I won’t get to spend time with you or them like I want to. Like I should. I’ll end up missing family vacations, always promising ‘next time,’ but never getting around to it.”

He pulled her hands away from his chest. “The world looks a lot different pushing forty than it does when you’re in your mid-twenties, Katniss. Right now the world seems like an oyster to you, ready for you to dig it up and pull out a pearl. But it’s not really true. Ten years from now, you’ll realize that however world- and self-aware you were today, that didn’t actually cut it for what life really entails. I know. I was there, once. But then, the next five years, when you hit mid-thirty, you’re looking down at the terrain from a whole different view. I can’t explain that to you because you simply haven’t experienced it. I’m not disrespecting you, I’m just saying the truth. It was true about me at your age. It’s true about everyone. You just can’t understand it until you’re here.”

This was new.  

This wasn’t just Peeta saying he was too old for her, _it was him also saying she was too young for him_.  That her age made her an inadequate fit for him as well. That she was too young, too naive, too wishful and he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy– or trust in her maturity– to parallel with her along the road of life.

Her emotions warred. Everything inside her, everything she’d come to know of Peeta’s goodness, told her to stay calm, that he was baiting her, trying harder to make her mad so she’d leave. Probably trying to convince himself, too. She tried to remind herself this was just an expansion of the “stupid crush” liturgy from the previous year.

It had to be.  

But damn, if it wasn’t an expansion that had absolutely not sounded like rehearsed lines of self-defamation and care for the other person.  _What if this was something he’d really been thinking all along?_  What if she’d just blinded herself to something he’d left unspoken because he was still working through it himself?

It had sounded unplanned and entirely candid.

Katniss’ hands reached ractively to protect her suddenly-churning stomach. Her fast breathing brought up with it the sharp taste of bile.  

The fear and panic clawed at her again. That demon devastation had its hands snugly around her throat and made it harder to breathe.

She told herself it wasn’t real. She tried to fight it off. She believed in Peeta, and she knew they belonged together.  But the only thing she had that was stronger than these new doubts was anger, and she desperately needed some armor around her heart right then, or she was going to fall apart.

“And so what, I’m not allowed to be with you because I started life on a separate timeline? Because I’m a few years earlier in the curve?”

“Katniss, don’t you get it?” he snapped.

“Well obviously, I’m too immature too,” she snapped back.

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“ _No_ , Peeta. You’re being a chickenshit and you’re trying to insulate yourself from the possibility of failing!”

His mouth opened, but he couldn’t speak.

“Whatever.” She shoved the debit card against his chest so he’d take it back. “It’s clearly your life, and it will never be mine, so congratulations, I finally give up.”

She pushed the door open, and the wind caught it, ripping it from her hands and flinging it wide with a thrash equal to her temper.

“Katniss, wait,” Peeta yelled into the wind, after a stunned moment gave way to him following her out and stopping to fight the weather and shut the door.  But she didn’t; she was already fifty feet down the sidewalk, moving fast.  

“Katniss!” The wind hobbled his words, and he had to half-jog to catch her, boots sinking into the snow with every step.  He grabbed her arm, and stopped her, turning her around. “Katniss, wait!”

“What?” she yelled.  “Does it feel different if  _you’re_  the one being rejected?”

“You’ll end up hating me. You’ll resent me. Life will  _not_  morph into the future you have planned out in your head. The everyday realities will be much harder, more mundane, and one day you  _will_  resent me for pulling you into it, when you could’ve instead been making the most of the best years of your life!”

She shook his hand off and took off again, wiping at the tears and forcing them to stop.  By the time they arrived at his block, she turned and went down the back alley to her car. The wind had created a snow drift on the driver’s side half-way up her car, and the overall accumulation was at least eight inches, which made it questionable whether she’d actually even be able to drive out. But, she didn’t even pause, pulling her key out, unlocking it, and climbing in through the passenger side. She’d get herself and her car out of that alley by the sheer force of her will if it came to it.

Peeta tried to stop her, asking her to wait, but now that she was to the safety of her car and on her way to leaving, she focused too much on not crying to slow down; momentum was all she had going for her to not fall apart.

She climbed over the center counsel, strapped on her seatbelt and started the car even though Peeta was holding the passenger side open, leaning in.

“Katniss, stop. The weather’s bad, you haven’t slept, and you’re angry. You shouldn’t be driving.”

“Oh yeah? And who the hell are you to tell me what I should do?”

She turned the heater on to max, then flipped on the windshield wipers, pushing a dump of snow towards the passenger side, coating Peeta and the inside of her door as it fell.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he pled.  “Let me call you a cab, or go sleep upstairs for a few hours and I’ll have you shoveled out by the time you need to leave for work. It’ll give me time to figure out how tonight went so wrong.”

Katniss’ hand was clutching the gear shift, white-knuckled from her grip as much as the cold.

“Fine, let’s do that, Peeta. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“ _You stop being an asshole and get over yourself._ ”

“Katniss…” Peeta’s mouth formed a tight line, but he followed her name with nothing else.

“Thought not,” she grumbled, throwing it in gear and pushing down on the gas.  Peeta jumped back as the car lurched forward. The tires caught snow, spinning, and then she fishtailed, slightly at first, then more wildly as she pushed down on the gas.

“ _KATNISS STOP!_ ”

She didn’t. She’s floored it, everything about the act and the jerking of the car ripe with the possibility of something really terrible happening at any moment.

Peeta yelled again, then dove into the car and struggled to pull the gear shift back into park.

“DAMMIT!” he shouted at her, livid and stretched across the passenger seat and center console so far his head was practically sandwiched between her and the steering wheel. “ _What the hell are you thinking!_ ”

He clawed his way back out.

“You want me gone; I’m trying to go.” She tried to sound neutral.

“Katniss, you need to calm down. Driving home right now is just being stupid because you’re mad.”

“What, and childish, am I right?”

Peeta growled, body fidgeting as he tried to reel in his own frustration that she was bringing it back to that. “Yeah, Katniss,” he nodded, chastising, “actually definitely childish.  _Especially_  considering how your parents died.”

Her face snapped towards him, and it was obvious in everything from his expression and body language that he’d regretted the words as soon as he’d said them.

Words of apology tumbled out from his mouth.

But Katniss couldn’t bring herself to discern them above the loud ringing in her ears. She clutched the wheel and stared out the windshield again, focusing on her breathing– in slowly, out slowly; in slowly, out slowly–  to hold back the sob ripping its way up through her chest and demanding exit to the world.

It was as impossible to hold back as vomit.

She ripped at the door handle and threw her shoulder against the door, against the snow on the other side of it, over and over as hard as she could. When it wouldn’t open more than a handwidth, she scrambled across and out through the passenger side, trying to dodge Peeta as he waited to intercept her with arms spread wide like a goalie.

“Katniss, stop,” he pleaded, wrapping his arms around her so she couldn’t run or flail. “I’m sorry,” he said quieter, face and scratchy beard pressed against her cheek. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. I can’t believe I said it. I just want you safe.”

She rammed her boot down into his, and kicked at his legs until he finally let go in pain.

“I HATE YOU,” she screamed straight into his face, then sprinted off into the night and snow faster than Peeta could have any hope of catching her.


End file.
